


oil; smoke; blood

by ashesofwren



Series: and he's not quite sure [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Body Horror, Fake it til you make it and then you dont make it, Gen, Gore, Haunting, Horror, Hurt Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Hurt No Comfort, Losing Time, Trauma, not for the faint hearted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 13:30:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15340884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashesofwren/pseuds/ashesofwren
Summary: There is Something behind Connor Anderson. It trails fingers along his arm, catches at the corner of his eye, and slips away when he tries to look at it.Until it knows how to hurt him.





	oil; smoke; blood

**Author's Note:**

> dear god please read the tags;
> 
> anyway this is my 100% self indulgent fic because honestly, dbh has plenty of angst and hurt/comfort but not nearly enough horror
> 
> you can find me on tumblr at writerwren

There is Something behind Connor. It’s not a surprise. Not new, not interesting, not terrifying. Something has been there his entire life, and it brings him no more concern than whether or not it is going to rain today.

47% chance. Unsurprising.

It must be perfectly fine and normal, because Connor is perfectly fine and normal. Just like every other adult. He is doing Just Fine and coping Very Well.

It catches the corner of his eyes, slipping away like oil as he turns to look at it.

He thinks, sometimes, that Hank may have noticed. The little twitches, the flinch, how sometimes his eyes will focus off on a target that isn’t quite there.

He’d once come to hunched in the bathroom, holding a knife by the blade. It had been hard to explain - god only knows Hank was terrified to find blood across his floor - but Connor had smiled a little too big and too awkward as an ice cold Something crept around his shoulder and wrapped itself around his throat. He had made up some story about dropping the knife or cutting himself - he couldn’t remember what he’d said, especially when It was squeezing, cutting off his air.

Hank eyes him sometimes. Connor has his practiced smile prepared and ready to whip out at a moments notice, ready to present himself like any other person, if a bit - what was it Hank had said? - “sad abandoned puppy-like.”

Connor supposed it was accurate enough. He was an orphan, certainly. No family left.

He can still remember the blood.

* * *

It follows him, and he can find no reprieve. One of the few times that it slipped up, let him catch it - he doubts it was a slip up at all, more of it finding ways to torture him - was in the precinct.

He was sitting on Hank’s desk, flipping through files, when the motion tugged at his attention. It was standing behind Detective Reed, holding a scalpel to his throat.

Connor freezes. This is the first time he’s had a full view of it, and it looks just like him. A near identical copy, maybe a little taller, and the eyes are a little colder, but. Identical.

He wonders if that’s what he would really look like, or if the creature just decided to mirror Connor to make things worse. It smiles at him - he smiles? What _is_ it? - and the teeth are sharp, like knives.

Connor starts to scream at the top of his lungs, and he can taste a bit of blood in his mouth, but there is nothing else he can do except scream.

Within seconds, the entire precinct is looking at him, Hank is running over - the first exercise he’s gotten in months, probably - and it just digs the scalpel into Reed, blood cascading down his throat. A pale white hand becomes ruby ruby red and Connor is screaming louder -

“Connor, what’s wrong? What’s wrong?” Hank is there, in front of him, blocking his view and yelling and Connor can’t see It anymore but he knows that it’s there and he’s leaning to the side and still screaming and the thing is holding Reed’s trachea in one hand carefully dissecting it and his face is covered in blood and his stomach is covered in blood and there is blood everywhere -

Hank slaps him, and Reed is not covered in blood and it’s gone and his heart is racing while everyone stares at him.

“Connor, come on, son, what happened?”

He blinks - once, twice - and scans Reed quickly for injuries. He seems healthy, and Connor sighs in relief. He smiles wide.

“What do you mean, Lieutenant?”

“I mean why were you screaming like you were being fucking murdered, Connor.” Connor tilts his head, and his smile stretches painfully across his face. He is aware that everyone is still staring at him and oh, that was probably not just another fantasized scenario.

“Everything is just fine, Hank. There is no need to worry about me,” Connor pats Hank’s hand and hops down from the desk and walks to the bathroom.

He looks in the mirror, and he can see it behind him. It reaches around and drags the scalpel up Connor’s arm, revealing the tendons and the muscles and the blood; he cuts out the veins, twists them around his fingers and his wrist like bracelets, and Connor is on the floor hyperventilating.

Caleb stands over him, drenching himself in Connor’s blood, and Connor can do nothing but lay there as his brother takes him apart and wears him like he’s the latest fashion trend. Before he knows it, before he can do anything to recognize it or try to help himself, Caleb is using his scalpel to slice open Connor’s stomach, stealing from him one by one to fill his own; before long Connor is simply there, empty, bleeding out on a bathroom floor.

And of course, that’s when he blacks out.

* * *

 Connor wakes up with the sun warming his face. He’s in his bed, that’s certain. He should probably get ready for work. After all, people would notice if he just… stopped showing up.

He hopes they would notice.

He gets up, gets dressed, and goes to prepare the coffee for Hank so he can lure him awake without being groaned at. Much.

He almost doesn’t notice that it’s not behind him. The lack of it is a breath of fresh air. It feels like Connor can breathe again.

As he approaches the kitchen, he can hear Hank conversing with someone. That’s unusual; Hank is rarely awake before Connor, let alone awake and functional. He pinpoints the other voice as Markus, and presses himself against the wall so he can listen in.

“I’m worried about him, obviously. He’s not acting like himself, and after the incident at work -”

“What, and I’m not? I’m doing my best here, but there’s not exactly a fucking guide for dummy’s about your kid’s possible trauma.”

“It would help if we knew what he had been through before he landed in the system.”

“Loving your optimism there, but if he hasn’t told me after eight years of him being my kid, what makes you think he’s gonna tell you?”

“I don’t know, Lieutenant. But at least I’m trying to help!”

Connor flinches, and he can feel the ice creep around his ankle, like a monster under the bed.

“Good morning Hank, Markus. How are you two today?” He crosses to the coffee pot and pours one, clutching it like it was the first warmth he had found in a blizzard.

“I’m good, and you, Connor?”

“I’m doing just fine, and I’m ready to head to work today.” A frown twists at Hank’s face, and he stands up from the table.

“Connor, you’ve been off work for the past week. And you have another two off.” Connor smiles his too bright too wide smile at him.

“Well, in that case, I think I’ll take Sumo for a walk.” And before either of them can react, he’s walking out the door, leash in hand.

* * *

Connor next comes to in an alley way. It’s snowing, and Sumo is licking his face, so it must have been a few hours at most. Connor is thankful for the little things.

As he’s walking back home, people keep doing double takes at him, and yes, he supposes that he and Sumo make quite the spectacle in the crowded city.

Until he catches himself in a particularly reflective window, and sees that he’s holding hands with Caleb. He’s not sure if people around them can see, but their arms are intertwined, shirts seemingly sewed together with blood red thread.

He’s not sure why the blood won’t leave him alone.

* * *

Connor is absolutely, one hundred percent, fine. He takes Sumo for walks, goes to the park, and eats. If sometimes his trips out last a lot longer than normal, and if sometimes his shirt is bloody under his jacket, well, that’s nobody’s business because Connor is absolutely and perfectly and completely Fine.

And Caleb is behind him every step, bearing the scalpel and encouraging him and freezing him. No matter what the weather, his clothes and hair are always perfectly dry and in place.

Everything in Connor’s life is Just Fine even if Something is behind him and hands are creeping on his body and he can’t stop feeling wrong and Hank is worried and he can’t go back to his job because they all think he’s Messed Up but he’s not because Connor is just fine and he will always be just fine no matter what it takes.

His face hurts from the fake smiles and sometimes Caleb will take the scalpel to him instead of whatever poor person is in the area but that’s okay because it’s Connor’s fault that he needs to anyway and Connor would do anything for his brother, even if it means giving his own life.

Like he couldn’t do before.

It’s fine, and it’s okay, everything is just Alright.

**Author's Note:**

> this story literally tried to disembowel me but it worked out in the end yay


End file.
